


A Perfect Blend

by butteryholyangel



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bongs, Condoms, It's a wild ride, M/M, drug cw, eat a snickers pete, it's wild, juice shack au, minion yaoi, non-graphic, pepe - Freeform, there's secks, there's snickers, this is terrible dont read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4913323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butteryholyangel/pseuds/butteryholyangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A juicy story involving smoothies, a bong, and breaking the last straw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Blend

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday El!
> 
> Crow and I made you this fic, I hope you enjoy.

 

Patrick’s co-worker was excruciatingly gorgeous.

He was practically Apollo personified—a blonde god that has came out to grace the world with his presence—and Patrick got to work by his side in this cramped cafe for the next three hours.

Apollo almost made working this job bearable.

Almost.

It didn’t help that they were in the sweltering heat for going on four hours now, and with every passing second Patrick was starting to hate Andy more and more. It was his fault that Patrick was rushing to get some impatient douche’s ‘Razzlemelon Swirl’ made with Apollo while everyone else in his school was able to enjoy the fair.

The place did haveair conditioning. It wasn’t like they would force their customers to inevitably end up as a puddle of sweat and skin at the counter—Boss wouldn’t have that. Unfortunately for them, the AC had a mind of its own and decided to take random breaks in the hottest month of the year. People actually started walking outside with their drinks because it was eventually colder out there than the oven they called the cafe.

To just prove that the universe was against him, Andy decided that it would be a great idea to sign up for every available shift at West Coast Smoothie and back out at the very last second, leaving Patrick to taking over his monstrosity of a schedule. The only positive that came out of this entire thing was that Apollo was also here for the entire seven hours. Patrick still had high hopes that Apollo would give up and take off his shirt to cool off.

So far, no luck. Apollo was being a letdown in this aspect.

Despite this, Apollo seemed to be a hit with the whole joint. He chatted up anyone and everyone that came to the cafe and made an absolute killing in tips. He had just the perfect amount of charm to come off as confident without being obnoxious, and Patrick was starting to hate it. Every single word that came out of his mouth captured Patrick’s attention, and he was 37% sure he added three times the normal amount of banana to this Razzlemelon Swirl. By this point he really didn’t care, he just wanted to be done with this smoothie place already.

Patrick wished that he considered Atlantic Crab Fishing. It would be just lovely to be an icicle instead of a melted pool of blistering hot death when he’s stuffing banana(s?) into a blender. He was just about to close the top of the blender when -

“Oh fucking crack on a cracker, I don’t fucking know!”

Just like that, the blender exploded.

It was Apollo’s fault, it truly was. When Patrick heard those words come out of his mouth, he could swear he got whiplash from turning his head so quick. Apollo had to know that Patrick would let go of the blender lid if he swore like that. He had to. So, naturally, it was all his fault.

The fact that both of them were covered in the pink slime they passed off as a healthy smoothie was Apollo’s fault too.

In front of Apollo—somehow miraculously spared from having even a speck of the remains of the Banana Berry Blast—was Brendon. Brendon, who has managed to laugh at the site of Apollo without  getting smited on the spot.

Apollo shot him a look that Patrick was almost certain said ‘if you make one comment I will castrate you’, and Brendon just smiled in response.

And then Apollo did the unexpected.

He started laughing his ass off.

Patrick just stood there, frozen, unable to think of what to say. What could possibly be an appropriate response to this? ‘Oh hey sorry about that whole smoothie grenade thing, but you know you could just take the shirt off. It’s totally fine with me if you never put it back on again. Totally okay.’

Before any of the three of them could say a word, they were greeted with a blast of scorching hot air. Someone must have left the cafe without shutting the door, and Patrick could swear his life was flashing before his eyes. It felt like the literal sun was glaring at them through the entrance. He didn’t want to die this way, he had to live long enough to find out whether or not he passed his Econ final last semester! And to just think of all the concerts he’ll never be able to go to...

Thankfully, Brendon was the one out of the three to work up enough ambition to get up and prevent everyone from burning to a crisp by slamming the door closed. When he dropped back down in his seat, he gave them both a look. “Haven’t you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door? It’s not that fucking hard if you get off your ass once in a while.”

Apollo just sighed and hopped up from the floor. “But Brendon,” he gave him a smirk. “That’s why you’re here.”

Brendon just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go change, it’s making me cringe just looking at you two.”

This was about the point Patrick felt like he was having a heart attack because holy fuck Apollo just took off his shirt.

Apollo used the hand that was holding his now crumpled-up shirt, and pointed towards Patrick. “You. Man the counter. Brendon, don’t let him fuck up.” With that Apollo went into the backroom, leaving Patrick gaping at his retreating form.

Brendon shot Patrick a smile, and leaned on the counter towards him. “So,” he started, “what’s your name?”

The stunning blond god peeked out from the corner of the room as soon as Brendon ended his sentence. “Brendon, for the love of god, can you please not try to get into the newbie’s pants? It’s becoming a problem, and I don’t want Patrick to suffer the same fate as the last three you lured in.”

Brendon’s smile only grew at Apollo’s words. Patrick was stuck with a confused look slapped on his face. “Wait, what is Apollo talking about?”

That sent Brendon into hysterics. “Apollo! Oh my god, Pete, do you hear this? Patrick called you Apollo.” So Apollo had a real name. Good to know. Brendon turned to Patrick, trying to stifle his laughter enough to get a few words out. “Okay, it’s official. You’re coming with us to grab something to eat tonight.”

“Brendon.”

“Don’t ‘Brendon’ me. Pattycakes here obviously deserves an award for making Apollo strip. He didn’t even have to ask like I always do!”

Pete looked at Patrick and sighed, gesturing to Brendon.  “Do you see what you’ve done? Are you happy now?”

Patrick shrugged noncommittally. Grabbing some food with Brendon and Apollo—Pete, he meant Pete—was certainly not on his top ten list of the worst things he could be doing. Brendon grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Come on, lets close up early. It’s dead in here anyways.”

“Brendon, we can’t—” Pete tried to say, before Brendon tactlessly cut him off.

“Pete, we can.” He shot Patrick another smile. “What about you Peppermint Patty, what do you say?”

Patrick glanced up at the clock and groaned. If he stayed he would have to suffer through the heat for two and a half more hours. Fuck it, he deserves some food.

He returned Brendon’s smile, and shrugged, not trying to overstep.

Brendon sighed and placed a hat on Patrick’s head. “Come on Krabby Patty, you’re rolling with us now.”

“Brendon, is that a fucking fedora on the newbie’s head?”

“Just roll with it, Pete-nut butter.”

*     *     *

If Patrick’s phone rings one more time, he might have to murder someone. It was nearly three in the morning, and unless it was Aaron Tveit coming to say that he wanted to get married and go on Broadway together, he was going to be pissed.

He glanced at the contact name.

Am I dreaming?

He struggled to click the green ‘Answer’ button before his phone casually slipped out of his hands and fell directly on his face.

Well, that’s a no.

“Hello?”

“Hey dude. Seriously, why the fuck would you invite the newbie to dinner? I was not prepared for it. Like at all.”

Despite slurring most of his words, Pete seemed pretty serious.

“Uh, Pete—”

“Don’t ‘Uh, Pete’ me. It was one thing to be cramped in the store with Stump all day, it’s totally another to invite him to dinner and hire him at the cafe that you don’t even fucking work for.”

“Pete—”

“Goddamnit Brendon, I know you know how I feel about this guy. Jesus, wasn’t it enough not telling me he would be working with me today?”

“Sorry, just wait—”

“No, I’m not done, B. I’m fucking sick and tired with all the shit you sign me up for without saying a word to me. I can’t just go on my whole life dealing with the decisions you make for my problems. I’m sitting here and all I can think about is that stupid motherfucker. I can’t get him out of my mind. This is all your fault.”

After a moment of tense silence on the other end, Patrick decided it was okay for him to finally speak up. “Uh, Pete? This is Patrick. I think you have the wrong number.”

More silence. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck.”

Beep.

Call Ended.

*     *     *

When Patrick opens the door to West Coast Smoothie the next morning, the last thing he expected was to see Brendon behind the counter, wearing a uniform, and taking an order from a middle aged woman who seems like she wants to ride him like a show pony.

The moment Pete sees Brendon in the uniform, he stops dead in his tracks.

“Seriously Brendon, where the fuck did you get that?”

Brendon flashed him an award winning grin, and waved him off. “Oh hush Pita-Bread, it’s all part of the image.”

“Brendon, you don’t even work here.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make a killing in tips,” the smug bastard winked.

Pete let out a sigh at his remark, and  slid over the counter, tying his apron. He glanced over at Patrick, giving him a smile like nothing happened last night. “Stump, do you mind making a Coconut Craze? We’re kind of crowded today.”

Patrick had no idea what to do. Obviously he should make the Coconut Craze, but Pete worried him last night. He definitely should tell Brendon about this because Pete is acting like a teen girl’s problematic fave, but at the same time maybe he shouldn’t. Pete and Brendon were still good friends, and it wasn’t really Patrick’s business to go sticking his nose into places it doesn’t belong.

Unlike Pete, Patrick lifted the top up to get behind the counter. There was no way that he would try to be cool and slide over it like the emo ninja over here did. He would 100% fall on his ass. As he blended up the smoothie, his thoughts continued to wander like they did yesterday. If working with Pete was going to have this effect on him, then there was no way that Patrick would ever be able to get anything done.

“Stump, it’s one coconut, not three.”

Patrick snapped out of his envy induced haze and blinked downwards at the two extra coconuts in his hands. No big deal, he’ll just try to pass it off as a new type of smoothie technique for flavor or something. However, the next thing that his brain chose to spout out of his mouth was a quiet, “Oh.”

So much for that idea.

Brendon snuck up behind the two of them, and rested an arm on each of their shoulders as he peered into the blender. “Are you sure Pepe? I mean, the more coconut the better, right?”

Pete whipped his head around to look at Brendon. “Did you just call me Pepe?”

Brendon was silent for a moment before muttering a strained, “...Maybe.”

“Brendon I swear to god.”

*     *     *

It was only half an hour away from Patrick’s lunch, and he was hoping that the universe would do him a solid and make time speed up.

However, Patrick should have known better than to think the universe would do him a favor when he was (kind of) friends with the one and only Brendon Urie. The one and only person who can take a completely serious conversation and turn it on its head while being (somewhat) tasteful. The only person who everyone agrees could distract the Pope during Mass if he tried hard enough.

“So Pitter-Patter, are you gay?”

Patrick nearly dropped the blender.

Next to him, Pete sighed. “Brendon, for the third time, you can’t just ask people if they’re gay.”

“Yes I can.”

“Brendon, no. No you can’t.”

"I just did."

“Brendon, I will fire you.”

“I will fight you.”

“Brendon.”

*     *     *

Patrick was on lunch, and he was seventy percent sure that that the customer Pete was handling was hardcore flirting with him. She kept giving Pete flirty smiles, and she talked about how she just moved here from Seattle.

Pete was being smooth as fuck and gave her a coy smile before saying, “You look so Seattle but feel so LA.” Patrick wasn’t even sure what that meant but he’d be damned if that didn't sound smooth.

The girl must have thought so too, because she tittered and leaned forward on the counter. Pete copied her gesture, and there was only a few inches worth of space between the two.

Patrick nudged Brendon, and gestured towards Pete. “What is he doing exactly?

Brendon shook his head. “Just take notes. It might come in handy.”

When he handed her the smoothie, Pete gave her a smile that could melt the Arctic. The girl obviously thought so too, because when she went to pay she gave him a ten dollar tip.

Just how the actual fuck was he doing this?

After the customer left, Pete proudly held up the receipt with the her number on it and held it in their line of view until he skipped out the door.

Patrick wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

*     *     *

Patrick was trying (and noticeably failing) to man the counter while Pete ate lunch in the back. He didn’t understand how Pete and Brendon could do it — Hell, Brendon didn’t even work here and he was better at it than Patrick is.

After giving out the wrong change for the fourth time in a row, Brendon sighed and snapped the tea towel he was holding against Patrick’s ass. “Go eat lunch, you’re terrible at this.”

Patrick wasn’t sure whether he should be happy or upset at the moment.

He decided that the best course of action would be to sit at the counter where he just so happened to be able to see Pete perfectly. (Brendon, it’s not really stalking if he just so happens to be in front of me. By accident.)

Patrick thought that this was a great idea. Well he did, until Pete pulled out a conspicuously shaped fruit.

“Jesus ever loving Christ, is he licking that just to torture me?”

“What the fuck, he’s doing it again.”

*     *     *

It was 1:16 AM when Patrick got the first text from Pete. It was sent as a group message to him and Brendon, and Patrick had to blink to make sure that he read this correctly.

 

So Pete had a dog, that’s a surprise. Patrick figured him to be more of a cat person.

  
  


Patrick was going to kill Brendon; he just had to back out when the minions came. Great timing.

 

Things like this made Patrick question why he was friends with Pete.

Were they even friends? A better question would be how does Pete have friends?

Just when Patrick thought this text disaster was over, he received a new message.

 

 

This time it was a good twenty minutes before Pete sent him another message.

 

*     *     *

“Pretty-Cakes, you’re coming to a party tonight.”

“I am?”

“Yes,” said Brendon nodding seriously from behind the counter, smoothie in hand. “You are.”

Patrick looked at Pete helplessly. He knew there was no way to get around what Brendon wanted. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to try though.

Pete crossed his arms and shook his head. “Sorry Stump, there’s no help for you.”

Brendon grinned at him. “He’s right Stumpy, nobody can turn down b-dawg.”

*     *     *

“Awe Pete, what if Stumpy doesn’t know how to dance?”

“Actually I kind of do—”

“Shh, no you don’t.” Brendon looked over to Pete and gestured to Patrick. “Come on Peter Pan, go over there and show him.”

“Brendon—”

“Don’t fucking ‘Brendon’ me. Go show our little nerd how to dance.” He crossed his arms and glared at Pete. Shit, he was serious.

When the song filled the store through the intercom, Pete whipped his head to where Brendon was sitting with a smug grin on his face. “Are you fucking seriously going to make me dance to this song?”

Brendon came up behind him and slapped his ass with a cupped hand. “You bet your skinny blonde ass I am.”

And that is the story of how Pete Wentz accidentally tripped over a chair trying—by Brendon’s forceful ‘recommendation’—to teach Patrick how to dance.

“Ow, fuck, jesus Brendon, do you see what happens when we listen to you?”

“I’m surprised you guys didn’t take this opportunity to do the horizontal tango.”

Patrick was confused. What the fuck was the horizontal tang—oh.

Silently, Patrick began praying to whatever deity there was out there that Brendon would never become a dance instructor to any poor, unfortunate soul.

*     *     *

Patrick was sitting on a musty old couch in a crowded basement filled with a bunch of twenty-somethings who he didn’t know. Pete and Brendon left an hour ago with the promise of shots, but at this point Patrick was seriously doubting whether they actually planned on coming back or if they were just abandoning him like a stray dog.

He still didn’t have a drink in the two hours he has been here. Everyone seemingly pulled their drinks out of nowhere, and Patrick was mildly afraid to ask where he could get one.

He was debating whether or not to just leave the party. Pete and Brendon weren’t answering, and it was starting to get late. He had to open West Coast Smoothie in the morning, which meant that he had to wake up at Satan’s ass crack in the morning just to get there on time. Patrick decided to wait fifteen minutes. If they didn’t come back in those fifteen minutes, he would just leave without them.

Well, that’s what he told himself.

Twenty minutes later and he felt the couch sink down on either side of him. Before he could turn to see who it was, he had a shot glass in front of his face.

“Bottoms up, Patfoot.”

By this point Patrick knew better than to argue with Brendon, so he did as he was told and the next thing he knew his throat was on fire.

Next to him Pete sighed. “Patrick, you have to chase it. Come on, I’ll show you how to do it.”

*     *     *

It was an hour later and Patrick would not stop talking.

It started with photosynthesis. The subject itself was innocent enough, but that all changed when Patrick forgot what pollen was called, and after a few failed attempts settled on ‘plant sperm’.

There was a new stain on the pristine white carpet thanks to Brendon laughing so hard he spit out his drink. Patrick almost felt sorry.

Patrick’s mood fell and he looked at the two of them solemnly. “B-dawg?” he asked mournfully, looking up at Brendon.

Brendon returned his look and put an arm around him. “Yes, P-dawg?”

Patrick gazed up at him, and did the last thing Brendon expected him to do.

He punched him in the chin with all the strength he could muster.

Brendon fell backwards, over a table and on his ass, and looked up at Patrick, holding his poor, beautiful face. “Dude.”

Patrick looked down at him with the same solemn expression he had earlier. “That’s for leaving me with Pete and the minions.”

Next to him Pete was howling with laughter.

*     *     *

Two shots later was it all it take for Patrick to lose any filter he had. He currently was talking in vivid detail about Pete’s ass while Brendon nodded seriously and poured him drinks. After a moment of silence, Brendon grinned at him.

“So,” he started, trying to see if Patrick was sober enough to talk to. “How did this Apollo thing start?”

Patrick broke out in the grin that was only possible  when you were drunk out of your right mind, and reached up to ruffle Brendon’s hair, ruining it completely. “In mythology Apollo is the god of music. He is depicted often with a golden lyre.” He looked at Brendon and elaborated. “A lyre is like a guitar.” Pause. “Kind of.”

Brendon looked at him blankly, not understanding what Patrick was getting at.

“He was also known as the Archer—he used this silver bow. He was the god of healing, and he gave mankind the science of medicine. He was the god of truth, and was widely known as the God of light.”

Patrick looked up at Brendon with an awestruck expression, like he was realizing this for the first time. “When Pete showed up, it was like he was the light of my world.”

Brendon smiled and patted Stump on the back. “Come on Rapunzel, lets go see if we can find your goddamn golden lantern.”

*     *     *

Pete was hanging out on the couch playing with his phone. Patrick flopped on the couch next to him, and sighed happily. “I’m glad you and Brendon are still friends.”

Pete froze, and Brendon looked at him confused. Brendon turned to Patrick, and gave him a small smile. “Of course we’re friends, Patty, why wouldn’t we be?”

Patrick looked up at him. “The day we met at West Coast, Petey Bird called you and said some kinda mean stuff. But he didn’t call you though, he called me.”

Brendon looked at Pete. “Is this true?”

Pete seemed like he was ready to flee, but he nodded anyways. “I swear I didn’t mean it - it’s just that I was drunk, and the owner - Mr. Fallagio - was riding up my ass that day and it just seemed like you were trying to control the only thing I had left and—and I’m just sorry dude.”

Brendon was silent for a minute before breaking out in a grin and clapping Pete on the back. “It’s fine dude, it was kind of a dick move. Besides, we all have our bad days. Are we cool?”

Pete grinned back at him. “Yeah man, we’re cool.”

Brendon grinned and turned to Patrick. “Are you ready to learn how to suck and blow?”

What the fuck.

*     *     *

So apparently ‘Suck and Blow’ was a game. Everyone sat in a circle, and the first person sucked on the back or front of a playing card with their mouth. They then turned to the person next to them, and blew on the card while the other person tried to suck it onto their mouth. If you dropped it, you would have to kiss the other person.

Why Brendon was making Patrick play this game, he had no idea; but Brendon wanted him to play, so he was.  

Patrick was sat down between Pete and Brendon, and he was glad that at least he was sitting with them and not strangers. The first thing out of Brendon’s mouth when they sat down, however, already made him start to regret this.

“The card’s not the only thing I mind blowing.”

Pete looked ready to kick Brendon’s smug little ass. “Brendon, I fucking swear to god that if you ruin this I will ruin you.”

Brendon batted his eyes and blew Pete a kiss. “Fine, have fun playing by yourselves, nerds.”

Patrick swore that Brendon shook his ass at them as he skipped out of the room.

The game was going well, and by some miracle Patrick didn’t have to kiss anyone yet. It was the fifth (round? turn? what were they called?) and Pete seemed to be the master of blowing.

Oh god he was starting to sound like Brendon.

Their turn was coming up again, and Patrick swore that he saw a twinkle in Pete’s eye as he waited for Patrick to put his lips on the card. The next thing he knew the Ace of Hearts vanished and Pete’s warm lips were on his.

They stayed like that for awhile, and Pete’s mouth was irresistible to Patrick. He suddenly understood why Brendon was so eager to get them in a Suck and Blow game. He let out a breathy moan and wondered exactly what else those lips would be good at right now.

This was more than the average kiss for Suck and Blow though. The others were just a quick peck. This was so much more than that.

Patrick wanted this moment to last forever; however, Brendon had different ideas.

“Lets go get some Snickers, bitches.”

Just like that, Pete and Patrick broke apart, unable to make eye contact. Brendon grinned and slung an arm over each of their shoulders, and pulled them close. “Come on guys, lets get our candy on.”

*     *     *

“Sir, your total comes to $298.68.”

“Uh, Brendon, do you really think you need that many Snickers?”

“Fuck off Pete. You don’t get any now.”

“Peter, eat a Snickers. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

“Patrick, I fucking swear to god.”

*     *     *

“Brendon, is that a fucking bong in your bag?”

“Just eat a Snickers, Pete. Don't worry."

*     *     *

To say Patrick was hungover the next day would be an understatement. He was in better shape than Brendon though, of whom was hiding underneath the counter using a towel as a pillow.

Pete seemed to be the one handling it the best out of all of them. If anything, he was more cheery than usual with his non stop whistling and humming. At some point after opening the store, he started playing with the cash register.

The cash register was an ancient thing, more rust than metal, and was used manually—not digitally. The drawer was the best part though. When you opened it past a certain point it dinged, which was just a fantastic way to torture someone with a hangover.

Patrick was also somewhat concerned about whether or not Brendon would actually cry if Pete continued.

Yet, Pete kept pulling on the drawer with his full body weight, trying to get the most out of the ding. Patrick lost count of how many times that damn thing dinged, but it was somewhere in the upper twenties when the drawer broke free from the rest of the cash register and threw Pete on his ass.

There was just something about  utterly confused expression that made Patrick burst out laughing.

Pete looked up at him accusingly. “Dude, why didn’t you save me?”

Patrick rolled his eyes and looked at the floor, where Brendon was most likely dying. He sighed and returned his attention to Pete, who was still on the floor. “Fine, fine, I’ll help you up, princess.”

One second Patrick’s feet are on the floor, and the next he’s on the floor surrounded by straws while Brendon is shrieking on the tile while curled up in a ball.

Pete, of course, was returning the favor and was doubled over laughing at him. “Dude, you literally tripped over Brendon. He was right in front of you, you fucking saw him.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and had a small smile playing on his lips. “Dude, why didn’t you save me?”

Pete just sighed and looked on at Brendon while Patrick attempted to clean up the straws. The thing was, there was so many of them. He understood quite well that this was a smoothie cafe, but at the same time how the fuck did they manage to acquire literally thousands of straws.

He picked up a few handfuls when he felt something on his neck.

Oh, it was on.

Suddenly there was million of little scraps of straw paper on the floor and Patrick didn't bother telling Pete that there was one in his hair. This was war - there would be no mercy in this.

They were down to the only a few straws when the owner came in.

“For fucks sake guys, are you kidding me? This is the last straw with the both of you!”

It was dead silent for a moment, before Pete said something a little too loudly under his breath. “Nah man, we used them all.”

Patrick swore that he never saw someone look so angry in his life.

*     *     *

“Pete, please spread out the fruit more. We need to make the display cases look fuller.”

“That’s not the only thing I’d like to spread.”

Holy fuck. Did those words really just come out of Pete’s mouth?

Patrick was still trying to figure out what exactly he could say to that without sounding like a complete idiot when Pete fucking winked at him with this huge fucking grin on his face like the chesire cat.

“So Party-Pat, you’re coming shopping with me later.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are. I need emotional support. This is a very hard thing for me,” said Pete with what seemed like sincerity.

“...Buying pants is hard for you?” Well this was certainly going to be a new experience.

“Yes. Brendon usually comes with me, but he’s busy today.”

“Do I have to?”

“If you don’t I’ll be very upset.”

“I hate you,” Patrick said, even though he didn’t mean it.

“I know.”

*     *     *

Two hours of shopping and Patrick was the walking definition of being sexually frustrated. Pete didn’t just insist on dragging him along shopping, he insisted on getting his opinion on every single pair of jeans. The only thing that has been running through Patrick’s head this entire time was how good Pete’s ass looked in every single pair of jeans.

This was the seventh store they have been to and Patrick was praying it was the last one. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

This store was different. Unlike the other stores, Pete managed to sneak him into the dressing room with him to ‘get rid of the middle man’. If Patrick thought it was bad when Pete just showed his body off in tight jeans, it was nothing compared to having Pete’s ass in his face while he struggled to get into a pair of jeans.

Pete turned around, trying to see his ass in the mirror. “Patty, do these fit okay?”

In an act of extreme yet expected stupidity, Patrick’s mouth worked faster than his brain. Before he even realized what he was about to do, he clearly replied,  

“Damn, I want to be the friction in your jeans.”

After a moment of silence in which Patrick was both internally and eternally cursing himself, Pete spoke with a slight smirk on his face. “Didn’t know you had that in ya, Patty Cake.”

Shit.

*     *     *

The next time Patrick got Brendon alone, he didn’t hesitate to ask him what has been on his mind since Pete and he went shopping. “Hey Brendon? What is with Pete and needing people to go shopping with him for ‘emotional support’?”

“Uh—?”

“Sorry, I just figured that since you usually go with you would know why.”

Brendon choked back a laugh. “Pear-Tree, what are you talking about? Pete has never taken anyone shopping with him for as long as I’ve known him.”

“That fucker.”

*     *     *

As soon as he got into work that morning, Pete directed him right out the door. “Come on, Mr. Fallagio already made his rounds this morning. Let’s get out of here while we can.”

Patrick was legitimately concerned. “Pete, what about work?”

“Patrick, would you rather be at work or go on a wonderful adventure with yours truly?” Pete said, gesturing to himself.

“Well—”

Pete cut him off. “On second thought, don’t answer that. Come on, we have a lot to do today.”

At this point Pete was dragging him by the arm. “Shouldn’t we wait for Brendon?”

“He’s not coming in today,” Pete said as he guided Patrick through the parking lot to his car.

“He’s not?”

“Nope,” Pete confirmed. “He just got a new bong.”

*     *     *

“You still haven’t told me why we’re in Ikea.” They’ve been there two hours, and Patrick had half a mind to tell Pete to pull over and ask for directions to the nearest exit to this maze.

“Hey, do you think we can steal a bed?”

Patrick looked at him. “Pete, you already broke three display stands.” There was a pause and Patrick couldn’t help but grin. “Let’s do it.”

Pete grinned at him. “Alright, help me pick the perfect one.”

They continued wandering the store, joking about what type of mattress to get; Patrick wanted soft, but Pete was insistent on getting a firm one. When they both spotted the table they stopped.

“Damn.”

“That’s just excessive, who’s going to want a table that could take up an entire room by itself?”

“Probably rich people.”

“You have a point there, Patty Bear,” Pete said while digging his phone out of his pocket. After a minute he sat the phone down on the table, climbed up, and offered Patrick a hand. “Join me?”

Patrick has no idea why he did it, but he took Pete’s hand.

Shakira was blasting on Pete's iPhone and honestly, Patrick wouldn’t mind if Pete’s hips lied as long as they kept doing what they were doing.

About midway through, Pete started doing fucking backflips. Out of everything he could choose to do, Pete picked the most bonehead idea on a glass table.

“Pete, don’t you think you should be more careful?”

“Lighten up Pattycakes, what’s the worse that could happe—”

CRASH!

“I warned you.”

“Agh, shit,” Pete groaned as he jumped up from the broken shards on the floor, “let’s get out of here.”

“Pete,” said Patrick, the hesitation clear in his voice. “Don’t you think we should stay here and pay for this?”

“Fuck that, you’re coming with me."

*     *     *

“Did I seriously just hear police sirens?”  Patrick was still high off of the adrenaline. They ran across to Pete’s place, and they didn’t get caught. Pete didn’t lie when he told Patrick that they were going on an adventure.

Pete rolled his eyes and took off his coat to throw on the arm of his living room couch. “We’re not going to get caught, if we were we’d be in jail already.”

Patrick sighed, and put his head into his hands. “What if we do?”

Pete didn’t answer for a solid minute, but instead of giving Patrick the emotional support he needed, he shoved what seemed to be a small cherry lollipop into Patrick’s hand. “Stop moping already,” he scoffed.

“Did you seriously just give me a lollipop?”

“If you’re going to act like a child, I’m going to treat you like one,” Pete said matter-of-factly.

Patrick’s only response to the man’s patronizing was flicking the wrapper at Pete’s head and popping the sugary sphere on a stick right into his mouth as soon as he turned away.

Pete has never looked so done with a situation than he did in this moment. Patrick gave him a cheeky smile. “You’re much better at sucking things than I am anyways.”

Pete would have choked if Patrick didn’t snatch the lollipop out of his mouth when he did.

It took a solid minute before Pete could speak again. “Well,” he swallowed. “We could always test that theory.”

Patrick could practically feel the tension in the air. He cleared his throat and look up at Pete. “What did you have in mind?”

“Would you like oral instructions or a demonstration?”

Patrick had to remind himself to breathe. “We could always try both.”

Pete flashed a seductive smile. “I always do appreciate a cooperative partner.”

“Well,” Patrick said carefully, he hoped this was going where he thought this was going. “We should probably start now if we want to get up for work tomorrow.”

Pete nodded slightly and focused on Patrick. “That’s a great idea.” And next thing Patrick knows Pete’s mouth is on his and oh my god his hands are doing wonderful things.

It was seconds before they were on the couch, Pete on top of Patrick, and Patrick would be damned if he didn’t love every minute of it. Pete was an expert in this field—he knew exactly where to touch to make Patrick putty in his hands, and the kissing. Oh my god, the kissing. If it wasn’t for what Pete was doing to Patrick’s thighs the kissing may be the best part of what's happening right now.

When his pants were inches from being off, Patrick broke the kiss. “Hey, is there something in your couch?”

“Other than Doritos bags and pennies, not that I know of. Here, move your ass for a second.”

When Patrick got up, Pete pulled two shiny packets of blue foil from the couch.

“Oh my fucking god, you have to be kidding me.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes at the squares. "What is it?”

Pete shook his head, "Can't you tell?"

“They kinda look like cond—" He stopped himself mid-sentence. "Oh.”

Instead of saying anything, Pete presented the other side of the condoms to Patrick who could see the words ‘Have fun! - Love B :)’ written crudely in sharpie.

“What size are they?”

The blond raised an eyebrow suspiciously at the condoms in his fingers. "They're good, but I don't trust Brendon with his sex supplies. It probably has Tabasco sauce drizzled on it if I know him well enough."

With that said, he threw the two packets onto the coffee table.

Pete looked back at Patrick, a smirk playing on his face. “What do you say we move to the bedroom and get some proper equipment?”

Patrick couldn’t help but sigh. How did all this end up happening? Still, he wasn't about to just bail on sex with the one and only Pete Wentz—the man who he'd just been dying to have even within close proximity of him.

"Yeah," he said, and leaned in closer to Pete's face, "I'm ready to do anything with you.”

Pete managed a small smile and placed a messy kiss onto Patrick's lips. "Lets go then.”

Patrick dusted himself off and strode proudly into the bedroom. This was sure to be a night to remember.

*     *     *

“We’re running late.”

Patrick gave him a hard look. “I told you that we should have started earlier.”

Pete sighed. “I know, I know.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t regret it though.”

Patrick couldn’t help but smile. “Neither do I, if i’m being honest.”

Pete gave him a grin that quickly fell when he saw his car. “You have to be kidding me. I swear, next time I see him, he’s going to be a dead man.”

In front of them, covered completely in all it’s glory, was Pete’s car with hundreds of condoms on them. Each condom was a perfect copy to the two they found in the couch, but something was off. Patrick looked at them in disbelief. “Where did he even get all of these?”

“From his own bedroom stash, no doubt. Didn’t you see the size?”

As they got closer, Patrick could clearly see the note taped on the window:  

Woops, I got you the wrong size last time. Here you go!! :D

-Brendon

Pete tore a condom off the driver’s door, and handed it to Patrick. “See? Extra small.”

“Now that’s just rude.” 

 


End file.
